The next morning, I woke up very well rested. Melody was still snuggled up next to me and had, at some point, grabbed some blankets and plugged my phone in for me. It was Sunday, and while my family didn’t attend church, we still had sort of a busy schedule. We’d made plans to go hang out with Amy and Vicky and see a matinee early, and then I had a patrol scheduled for closer to sundown later. I could smell breakfast cooking, and it smelled really damn good. French toast and coffee scents were wafting up the stairs. I reached over and gave Melody’s shoulder a light shake to wake her up.

  “Mmmmugh. It’s too early.”

  I leaned over her ear and whispered, “But, Mel, French toast.”

  Her eyes flicked open, and she said, “I’m awake.”

  I laughed out loud and got out of bed. It was her favorite food, we were both quite fond of breakfast foods in general, and we tried to eat one all-hands family breakfast each weekend. Dad was a great cook. So was mom, but dad always cooked family breakfasts. Stretching out next to the side of the bed, I rolled my shoulders and cracked my lower back before grabbing a change of clothes and getting dressed. I could hear Melody tapping away on her phone behind me, still on the bed.

  “Something going on? Interesting news?”

  “Nah, just coordinating with Amy. Making sure we’re still on. I doubt she’s up yet, though.” I applied some anti-perspirant and pulled on a Brocton Bay University t-shirt to complement my leggings.

  “I think today’s the day,” I told Melody. I’d been thinking about some of the stuff she told me last night.

  “Yeah? You can do it, sis. I got your back no matter what.”

  “Alright, I’m starving, let’s eat!”

  I headed downstairs, and Melody came down behind me in her PJs. Mom was already seated at the table, had a laptop next to her plate, and was rapidly tapping away at the keyboard. Dad was behind the stove cooking up more French toast, a stacked plate already in the middle of the table. I helped myself to an XL mug of coffee and took a seat next to Mom. My nerves were lit up, my chest feeling tight with apprehension over how this conversation might go. Melody slipped into the chair next to mine and looked over at me with an encouraging smile on her lips.

  I took a sip of my coffee, then cleared my throat. No time like the present. If I kept putting it off, my nerves would get worse, and I’d never say what I’d wanted to. I knew this well, from being in this exact place and situation no less than a dozen times already.

  “Hey, uh. Mom? Dad?”

  “Yeah?” Dad didn’t turn away from the stove. Mom paused her typing just a moment to glance over at me. I blushed, probably beet red from how hard my cheeks were burning right now.

  “I’m gay.”

  Mom dropped her eyes back to the laptop screen.

  Oh no…

  “That’s nice, dear,” she replied and started typing again.

  “Hi, gay, I’m Dad,” Dad said from the stove.

  Melody clapped her hands, slowly. I pushed my plate back and buried my face in my hands on top of the table. I didn’t know if I wanted to be elated or die of shame. My voice muffled by my palms and no doubt straining, I asked: “You knew already? Did Melody tell you?”

  It would have been sweet of her to break the ice-

  “Other way around, actually,” Melody said from my left.

  What?

  Dad chuckled, and Mom said, “Dear, you’ve been staring at other girls' chests and behinds since the day you turned 14. It wasn’t exactly subtle.”

  I let out a little croak. If it were possible to die of shame, I was about to find out. Melody patted me on the back with a couple of hollow thumps. “Told ya you were overthinking it, dummy.”

  I took a moment longer to take a few deep breaths and let them out, then sat up, composed myself, and fanned my toasty face. Melody grinned over at me, then took her fork and speared a three-deep stack of French toast slices and dropped them on her plate. Today was going to be a long day. I pulled my plate back over and started to dole out some of the goodies for myself.

  After breakfast, we got ready to head out. Melody was going to be driving today, like usual, and we’d have to stop and pick up the Dallons. They didn’t live a terrible distance from us, and we were going to catch a movie over at the theater by the boardwalk. The place downtown was a bit fancier than the theater by the boardwalk, but it was also twice as expensive, the parking was awful, and the concessions were outrageously priced.

  We took dad’s SUV, which was bigger and roomier than mom’s car, and Melody was more used to driving it. She was a very good driver. I put some tunes on the radio on the way over to the Dallons. I tended to like the heavier stuff. High-energy and aggressive tunes, my so-called ‘workout music,’ even though I listened to it basically wherever. Melody didn’t mind it, although she was more into hip-hop. We had some overlap there.

  I turned down the stereo when we pulled into the Dallons' driveway and texted Victoria. Vicky and Amy came right out and hopped in, and we were off. I turned the music back up, not quite as loud as before, still loud, but the kind you could talk over.

  “I can’t believe you listen to this, Morgan!” Victoria said from the backseat, and I heard Amy smack her on the arm. “Hey!” I turned and looked over the shoulder of the front passenger seat into the back, and then stuck my tongue out and threw devil’s horns with one hand at Victoria.

  Victoria rolled her eyes, and Amy giggled. We hit a stoplight, and I turned back around and bobbed my head to the beat. Melody ticked the volume down a few notches with a control on the steering wheel and called back to our passengers: “Hey, did Morgan tell you she dropped big news to our parents this morning?” She glanced over at me, a giant shit-eating grin on her face.

  Oh, you BITCH!

  As if she read my mind, she stuck her tongue out at me and went back to a wolfish grin.

  “What was it? News from the Protectorate, or University?” Amy asked.

  “No… I came out to them.”

  “Hey, nice!” Victoria leaned forward and held her hand out, and I slapped her a high-five, feeling honestly relieved.

  “What was that like?” Amy asked me after the clapping of palms.

  “Oh my god, super embarrassing, I thought I was going to die.”

  She followed up with another question: “Why, did they not take it well?”

  I groaned loudly and shook my head. “No… Fucking! They already knew! For years! FOUR! I’ve been pulling my hair out for half of that trying to figure out if I wanted to tell them, and how to do it, and it was just like… ‘Yeah, okay, cool.’ I felt so dumb.”

  I twisted around to look in the back, and Amy was like, trying to shrink into the seat or something. She was also blushing pretty heavily. I tilted my head and cocked a brow at her.

  She wrung her hands in her lap and stammered as we set back into motion. “M-me too,” escaped her lips, barely audible over even the recently-lowered music. Victoria’s head whipped over towards her, and she gasped.

  “Ames, really!?” Victoria’s tone was incredulous.

  The shy girl literally flinched. She looked over at her sister, dropped her eyes back down to her own lap, then nodded rapidly. Victoria had this look of dawning realization, her eyes slowly widening and eyebrows rising.

  “Wait, so that’s why none of our double dates ever go anywhere? You should have told me you weren’t into guys!” Vicky started laughing raucously, leaned over, and held her arms open for Amy to hug her. Amy’s lower lip trembled before she almost flew into her sister’s arms, and they death-gripped one another.

  “Whoo! This is awesome!!” Melody called out to the two in the back seat.

  “Hell yeah! You rock, Amy! I want a hug too after we get out!” I said gleefully before turning back around. I heard some sniffling and whispers in the backseat, but it sounded like happy sniffles, so all was good. Melody looked over at me and stuck her tongue back out again. I fiddled with my phone and got some less aggressive and more upbeat music going, and we made good time on our trip over to the boardwalk.

  We had bought tickets in advance online and printed them out, so getting into the movie was going to be easy. I got caught up in my back-owed hug quote from Amy, and I picked her up clean off the ground when I did, her feet dangling a couple of inches off the pavement. We loaded up on some way-too-big popcorn buckets and drinks and headed into the theater, which was practically empty.

  Today’s film was going to be an import from Earth Aleph: The Day the Earth Stood Still. It was a pretty interesting movie, maybe due in large part to how different our culture was over here compared to Aleph’s. We had contact with them due to an accident caused by a tinker making a hole between dimensions, but both sides had basically immediately quarantined, and it had never been lifted in the decades since.

  They didn’t have Endbringers or parahumans on Earth Aleph, which was sorta strange. Instead, they had a way richer media environment. We were a bit ahead of them on some technologies that had been reverse-engineered from tinkertech or invented by thinkers. They were ahead of us in other technologies. It varied a lot based on the specific sector and type of technology. The one thing we did share and trade back and forth was digital information, like these films.

  After the film, we stopped over to Fugly Bob’s, a local greasy napkin ‘gourmet’ burger joint. The gourmet part was dubious at best, but the burgers were pretty darn good, and it was a local staple and popular tourist spot. By the time we were done, it was going on 4 PM, and I had to get going. We said our goodbyes, and I split off from the rest of them to catch a bus to downtown for work.

  I checked in, hit the Wards locker rooms, and got into my real costume. I had a good feeling about the patrol tonight and had been riding an emotional high ever since this morning. I could tell this was going to be my night. Maybe I could take down like a mid-level thug or get some lynchpin in this smuggling case. Perhaps even a villain, although I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d stand off against the ABB’s two big guns. Maybe they had some merc capes?

  Things have been going my way. I’m going to try and use my power a bit harder tonight if I do get into anything potentially ugly.

  I hesitated on my selection of boots and armwear for tonight. I had some options to pick from. I think tonight I was going to stick with my usual handwraps, but I’d spice things up and go for my big, bad ass-kicker boots. They were knee-high and looked like a motocross boot or something similar: rugged, secure, and heavily armored. I called them my ass-kicker boots because they were pretty heavy, and they acted like a potent force multiplier to any kicks I landed. I grabbed my belt, strapped it on, and my helmet. It took a moment for my helmet to power on and connect to my PRT phone and radio set, but the integrated communications and information-gathering and internet search functions, when linked, were priceless.

  I really owed Chris another huge thank-you for making and maintaining this. This helmet was the best part of my entire setup, by far. It made my fine-tuned utility belt look basic by comparison. I banded my hair up into a high pony and then folded it into a rough bun at the back of my head, then hit the hidden release on the helmet. It split in half, and I brought the back half up against the back of my head, making sure no hair was sticking out anywhere, then toggled the mechanism. It whirred closed and locked shut, and I felt the cuff around my neck snug up against the skin. The filtration system and displays were already up and waiting for me, and while the helmet didn’t hard-seal against my skin, it was close, and the positive air pressure kept out any airborne nastiness. I formed two fists, cracking my knuckles in the process.

  Let’s do this.

  Tonight I’d be working hand-in-hand with my PRT officer handler, David Collins. David would be providing me with transport to the dockyards and back in his unmarked SUV, and then splitting from me to keep an eye on the movements in the area. We related information back and forth to one another. He typically had his electro-tint windows blacked out and the vehicle idling somewhere within a couple of miles with his computers up, watching my feeds and giving me directions, support, and advice. Tonight would be no different, as we were working on a dedicated PRT investigation. This was his baby as much as it was mine.

  I hopped into his ride in the secure garage, and we took off. We kept pre-game chatter to a minimum most nights. He was always telling me, “Morgan, remember. Two eyes, two ears, one mouth.” His way of saying to be observant and aware, more than just another loudmouth cape. It was good advice, and I tried to follow it the best I could. Awareness was a huge part of being a good hand-to-hand combatant.

  “I have a good feeling about tonight,” I broke the relatively long stretch of silence we’d been riding in, the sounds of road noise only broken by regular PRT dispatch radio calls and updates.

  “Being positive is good, but don’t set your expectations too high. Most stakeouts don’t net much.”

  I nodded in my sealed headwear like a goober.

  “I’ve been feeling more confident with using my power, too. If anything does happen.”

  He glanced over, his salt-and-pepper hair catching a passing street light. “That’s good to hear. I remember you telling me you’ve been working on it. But remember, powers aren’t what make a good hero a good hero. There’s plenty of powerful people out there, heroes and villains alike, who aren’t good at doing this, or have their careers cut short.”

  “Oh, I know,” I replied, before continuing: “I know that’s my weakest aspect. I’m doing what I can to get over my uh… hangups with using it.”

  David grunted. “It’s good to know when the bad cards are in your hand, and to keep your hand close to your chest. I don’t mean that your power is your weakness, just- I think you know what I mean.”

  “I do," I replied.

  "You’re good at this, Morgan. You’d make a good officer,” he said.

  “Thanks, David.” Leaving the unspoken part of that left unsaid. I knew he meant well.

  I’d be a good officer, if I could be. But I can never be an officer. PRT doesn’t allow parahumans to be officers or in the command structure. Only supporting staff, analytics, PR, and R&D divisions. And even then, there’s usually strings attached.

  Today was a good day. I wasn’t going to let dark thoughts drag me down.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I focused my attention inward, towards my perception of my power. I always felt that it was like water, but deep water. Like the deep ocean, it was dark, bottomless, and vast. My imagination filled it in as being like barely-lit and usually gentle seas. Sometimes the water got violent, but not right now. I lowered myself in. It was cold, but the way a pool was cold in the summer. It wasn’t so bad once you adjusted to the temperature.

  I took deep, slow breaths and did my best to remain composed and focused. I thought about the strength of the waves crashing into shore, the speed at which seas could go from calm to a tempest, the violence and intensity of an Atlantic storm raging. I wanted to tap that, but just a little bit. I felt my power stir around me, and the water started to rock and bounce me as waves formed and grew. There, not too much.

  I felt the physical manifestation of my power within my body, and it pulled me out of my pseudo-meditation. A central weight in my chest, reaching out roots towards my extremities. It wasn’t painful or unpleasant. Quite the opposite, it brought warmth and energy in its wake. It was the fine sensations that made my breath hitch in my throat. I felt… things moving under my skin, wriggling and squirming like worms or parasites. I felt ripples and waves travel through my skin, my organs shifting and oozing around like they were separate organisms inside me. My gorge rose in my throat, and I felt the initial stirrings of a panic attack rustling around my nervous system.

  Deep breath in. Hold. Let it out slowly. Calm.

  I swallowed the knot that’d risen and cleared my throat. That was a little better. I squeezed my right fist, and I felt powerful. Strong. Lifting a thigh, my boots felt like they hardly weighed anything at all now. Good, good. My problem was always either getting panicked and shutting it down right away or letting it go too far, and having things start happening to my anatomy that I didn’t have much control over.

  Opening my eyes, I saw through my helmet's map that we were idling in a dark lot behind an abandoned commercial building. Feeling sheepish, I looked over to David and asked him, “We haven’t been here long, have we?”

  He tapped on the keyboard of the laptop he’d swung out on a swivel arm and shook his head, saying: “No. A couple of minutes. You seemed busy. I needed to check on things anyway.”

  “Okay. I’m going. I’ll keep in touch.” I reached for the door handle.

  “Good luck out there. Be careful. Lots of reported activity already tonight. You might be right, that this is one of the big ones.”

  I slid out of the SUV and shut the door as quietly as I could, then crouched down and jumped up to the landing of the fire escape attached to the building. Climbing up the stairs two at a time, I made my way to the rooftop of the building in short order. The sun was setting, and streetlights were already on, the ones that worked in this part of town. It wasn’t a great percentage that did.

  I preferred to stick to the rooftops. When I amped myself up, I was able to jump between two-lane streets, and going from building to building was very easy. I glanced up at the miniature map I had in the top right periphery of my vision. Focusing on it automatically enlarged it for me; the helmet software tracked my eyes and focus, no need for external controls. I was about three blocks out from the warehouse I wanted to keep an eye on. No problem.

  I imagined I knew about five percent of what it was like to fly when I was sailing through the air between buildings. Victoria had told me before that flying was liberating in ways that were hard to put into words. I believed her. Run, jump, sail through the air, land, tuck, roll, spring back up, and run for the next jump. It was insanely fun and good exercise. Until you ran into the rooftops where people had parties. Rolling through broken glass sucked pretty bad. I was always scared I’d wind up catching a dirty needle in some of these areas, too. The immunizations they gave us as Wards were pretty intense, but the thought always lingered in the back of my mind.

  Landing on the roof that I wanted to be on, I made my way over to the unfinished and abandoned half-constructed shell of a building butted up against it, and lightly jumped up two feet to the open floor. The building was five stories and nothing more than a giant concrete and rebar skeleton. Most of the floors didn’t have full walls, only partial coverings, and sheets of plastic and tarps hung everywhere. It was across a big open storage and parking lot from the large warehouse I was looking to spy on. Being in the building meant that I wouldn’t be silhouetted against the night sky, and I could observe in relative safety.

  The stairways inside the building were fully enclosed, but most lacked doors. I made my way up from the second story to the fourth. On the landing of the third floor, there were a handful of homeless people huddled around a small fire burning in a metal bucket. They were boiling water in a battered pot sitting on a metal grate over the fire, and collectively hushed and looked at me when I came up the steps, apparently not who they were expecting.

  “I’m not here. You didn’t see me, I didn’t see you, nothing happened or is going to happen. Sounds good?” I asked, my helmet’s voice scrambler active. They nodded quickly, and I gave them a thumbs up before heading up another flight.

  “They haven’t been here before on your patrols, right?” David asked in my ear.

  “No, first time. I hope they don’t do something stupid.” I replied.

  “Homeless often get along by remaining as unnoticeable as possible. Possible they alert the ABB, but the ABB isn’t known for taking care of people, even their members, so I think it’s unlikely.”

  I stood in a room with free-hanging tarps for walls, and looked out through a gap in two sheets down and across the lot. The telephoto optics in my helmet zoomed in and amplified the light so I could see as clearly as day.

  Jackpot.

  One of the loading bays to the warehouse was open, and a large five-ton truck was pulled entirely inside the building. Muted area lights were on in the warehouse, and people were loading long, narrow rectangular crates with rope handles into the back of the truck. This was exactly what we had been looking for. Proof that the ABB was shipping in bulk arms, either for sale or use. The PRT was wanting a reason to step up to more dramatic and direct enforcement actions against the gang, and we needed concrete evidence of something big going down to get the funding and authorization from D.C. This was it.

  David came in over the radio: “See if you can zoom in and pan around some. Are any of the crates open?”

  I did as he asked, but the angle was bad. I couldn’t see where they were collecting the boxes from, only the truck they were loading them into.

  “I’m going to reposition to try and see if I can get a better angle.”

  “Copy. Be careful.”

  Moving quickly, but quietly, I went over to the side of the building and looked down at the roof two stories below. That was… A pretty big drop. I looked around a bit more and got an idea. Getting a little momentum, I ran and dropped down, parkouring between a wall and two support beams down two stories, and then over to the rooftop I came in on. I scanned the warehouse again. Still no good. A run and two jumps later, and I was able to see into the half of the warehouse on the right side of the truck, but there wasn’t anything there but some floodlights with colored plastic taped over them. I’d only seen about five, maybe six people loading the trucks. They were fairly robust-looking, but I was pretty sure I could take them out easily, even if they were armed.

  “David, I can’t get an angle. It looks like the truck is mostly loaded. I want to move into the warehouse to see if I can get a better look. I think I can keep out of sight, or worst case, take them out if I need to.”

  “I’ve radioed it in already. The Protectorate will be here in fifteen. Probably best to just wait it out.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “I don’t think they’re going to still be here in fifteen minutes. I really think I should move in. This is the biggest break we’ve gotten in months.”

  There was a long moment of silence before David came back: “I hate to say it, but I think you might be right. Move in, if you feel up to it, but be careful. And if you think something’s off, get out of there. I’m pulling out now and driving your way as fast as I can. Be there in five.”

  “Copy, don’t set off any lookouts they might have posted on the way over. I’ll be fine. PS, moving out.”

  My palms were a little sweaty as I dropped down and started doing my best silent jog around the outskirts of the big lot. Luckily, there were plenty of gravel and sand piles, stacks of rebar, and rotting plywood to provide cover. I got right up to the side of the warehouse and looked for a side entrance. There was a door that was propped open by a brick, probably how the ABB came and went. There was a little bit of talking echoing inside the building, but nothing nearby. I cracked the door and looked inside. Nothing but more building supplies, but this time inside. I slid the door open enough to squeeze in.

  Making my way between stacks of materials and industrial machines, I worked my way closer to the truck and the open bay door. Peeking around the corner of a shipping container, I saw that there were five people, four guys and a lady, smoking cigarettes. Tatted to hell with gang ink and wearing the green of the ABB on bits of their clothing. I caught them taking a break, perfect. Putting the truck between myself and the group, I snuck over to the few remaining crates left unloaded and unclasped the latch and lifted the lid. It was filled with assault rifles.

  I whispered in my helmet, making sure my external voice transmitter was off, so I was only speaking to David. “I got it, you’re still recording, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s logging, I’m still driving, can’t look. Get out of there!”

  “Going, going!”

  I closed the lid and redid the clasp, turned around, and walked face-first into someone standing directly behind me. I was so focused on collecting the evidence that I never heard them come up behind me. I took a step back and looked up to see a black bodysuit and a bright red grinning demon mask.

  Oni Lee!

  His voice rasped out from behind his mask: “I don’t recall the Wards being invited. Looking to join up?” He laughed at his own joke, and I heard some footsteps approaching from the other side of the truck and guns getting cocked.

  Shit! Shit! SHIT!

  My hands darted to my belt as fast as I could move them. I’d trained for this. I couldn’t panic, not here, not now. Oni Lee jumped backwards and yanked a pair of knives out from the bandoliers on his chest. I pulled a flashbang grenade from my belt, yanked the pin, let go of the spoon, and dropped it at my feet. I had seconds to move. I launched into a sprint for the door, my eyes flicking up to the very top of my helmet’s display to turn on my helmet dampeners. I pulled another flashbang, armed it, tossed it at the group of gangers, and was pulling out a smoke grenade when the first one went off.

  For a split second, the inside of the warehouse was lit up far brighter than the inside of an operating room. The detonation was heavily blocked out by my helmet, sparing my hearing and keeping my balance intact, but the impact of the blast hit me in my chest like I’d just been flipped straight onto a mat in the dojo. I didn’t stop running and hucked a smoke behind me after igniting it. I was maybe a third of the way across the big lot when Oni cut me off by teleporting directly in my way.

  “Tisk, tisk, Phoenix Strike. You thought you’d get a grenadier with a flashbang.” He waved his twin tanto daggers in an elaborate flourish. I eyed the belt of grenades he had strapped across his chest. Those were decidedly not non-lethals. I wasn’t going to be able to outrun a teleporting Mover like him. This was going to be a fight, a real parahuman fight, and my heart was racing. A flick of my eyes across the interface of my helmet re-enabled my external voice transmitter, with the masking active.

  I sent a nudge to my power for a bit more juice. I was going to try to end this with a quick knock-out and get the hell out of here if I could. I thought about trying to drop CS gas and force him to fight in it, but he could force me out of my advantageous zone with his fragmentation grenades. And if I used smoke to try and cover my exit, he could get to a vantage point and re-engage me in the time it took to blink with his teleportation. I started to circle some, and he followed suit. I wasn’t taking my eye off him for a second, but I wanted to check on the status of any additional pursuit. The smoke was starting to obscure the entrance to the warehouse, and the gangers I saw were either lying on the ground or struggling to move on their hands or knees. Good.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I replied.

  “I appreciate a lady who can blas-”

  I didn’t give him a chance to finish whatever banter that was going to be. I dashed forward fast and leaped into a flying kick straight to his chest. He was fast and brought his knives up, but I was quicker. I felt the kick barely connect, and then I flew straight through a poof of white dust.

  Shit, a clone! He teleported!

  I salvaged a landing with a roll and popped back to my feet, only to feel a sharp, searing pain slice across my left shoulder. Without having to think about it, I spun with a backfist strike to the mask and met another cloud of dust. I spun back around and leaned back in just the nick of time to avoid getting another slice carved into my hide. I jumped backwards and landed into a low crouch with my legs tensed.

  “Nice.”

  “Shame you ran into me, huh?”

  “Must not be fun for you.”

  He kept rapidly teleporting around me, taunting me from clone to clone. He’d teleport to a new spot, and a previous clone would fly apart into dust, leaving one up at a time, plus his real body. I felt the air shift behind me and quickly rolled forward, and there was a “CLINK!” of the angled tip of his dagger hitting the pavement. I swung my leg out low in a sweep, but it was another clone.

  He keeps teleporting before I can get a strike on him, but there’s a pattern to it. He keeps attacking from the rear. He’s decent with those knives, but he’s being cautious, too. Probably knows I can hit him pretty hard. If I can just… bait him out, maybe I can get a decisive blow.

  We repeated this cat-and-mouse game half a dozen times, and each time, I made a mental note of how long it was between repositioning and his attack. For my efforts, I got sliced nearly as many times, and my costume was getting wet with blood down the front, back, and sleeves. The gang members in the warehouse seemed to have partially recovered, gathered a few friends, and were making their way over, too. I had to end this, but I couldn’t give up the game that I was onto him.

  I had one chance.

  I heard a knife clack against my helmet just as I was rolling to the side, and as I was coming back to my feet, I felt a deep, gut-clenching agony light up in my right thigh. I looked down to see a tanto buried to the hilt in my thigh. I shifted my stance a little, and the sensation of my muscles tensing and sliding around the blade made me almost throw up in my helmet.

  There was a rasp of another knife being removed from a plastic sheath as Lee approached me from the front. “Seems our little game is over now. I have to say it was fun while it lasted.” I grunted and brought my fists up. My left hand was slick with my blood, but the wraps helped.

  “Oh, what’s this? Still up for more? You’re more fun than I thought you’d be!”

  My voice was strained, but I got out a taunt without sounding too bad, at least, in my mind: “Bring it, you dollar store ninja.”

  Lee barked out a laugh and rushed me head-on. I brought my left fist up for defense and lashed out with a straight punch with my right, straight at his face. Before it could connect, I was already spinning, a high roundhouse with as much force as I could muster behind it. It was sloppy, I was having to balance on my right leg, and I could feel muscles getting cut by the knife and tearing with the force I was exerting. I had to do an educated guess at where he’d be and what sort of stance he’d be in, too.

  My foot connected, and it connected hard!

  I’d hit him square in the head, and he flew back and to the side, landing in a heap. He wasn’t getting up from that one anytime in the next couple of minutes, I was certain. He was out, stone cold. I brought my leg down with a gasp, and I shifted my weight onto my good leg.

  F-fuck, that hurts so bad! I need to get out of here and get a tourniquet on i-

  My thought was interrupted by someone clapping their hands behind me. I was turning to look when I felt a pair of bee stings in my lower back. There was a blooming burn in my lower right abdomen. I clapped my hand over it without thinking about it. There was shouting, and I got stung two more times, in my left chest and hip. I fell to my knees, the kneepads on my boots clattering on the pavement and sending a shock through my body that made me want to hurl once again.

  I felt lightheaded and dizzy, and toppled over onto my side.

  Someone was shouting, practically roaring, in thickly Japanese-accented English: “Fool! Did you think before shooting a Ward!? If she dies, the whole Protectorate comes down on us! I’ll kill you myself if she does! You, you! Pull the truck out, now! Go!”

  I rolled onto my back and brought my hand up in front of my helmet. It was covered in deep, dark red blood. I’d been shot a few times. Breathing felt weird, and it hurt. Everything hurt.

  I thought back to my training. I couldn’t just lie idle right now. I’d probably die if I did. Time was of the essence. I was in too much pain to move most of my body, so I lay on my back and ripped off my first aid kit from my belt. It was attached with heavy velcro for situations like this, and the zippers were oversized with attached strings for easy gripping.

  Unzipping it, my hands were shaking, and it made operating the kit the way I wanted to difficult. There were three big syringes on the inside filled with fast-acting coagulants and wound sealants. I pulled one out and popped the cap off.

  This is going to suck.

  Feeling for the hole, I clenched my teeth and stuck the body of the syringe into the wound channel as deep as it would go and depressed the plunger down. It felt like someone took a handful of sand and jammed it straight into the wound. I screamed as the plunger went down, forcing the syringe applicator back out of the wound as I depressed it.

  O-o-one down. Two to go. I can’t do the one in my chest.

  I grabbed the next one and repeated the process with the other gunshot in my abdomen. It was worse than the first time, somehow. I didn’t know if I could manage a third round. I felt the wound on my left hip and–thank fuck–it was a grazing shot and had sliced a track in the skin over my hip, but hadn’t punctured deep tissue. I hacked and tasted blood. I wanted to take my helmet off desperately, but I couldn’t, not with the ABB still clearing out.

  I need to roll to my side or try to sit up, so I don’t fill my good lung up and drown.

  I didn’t think I could sit upright at the moment, even if my life did depend on it. Side it was. I rolled onto my left side and saw a pair of boots and pants a few feet away. Coughing again, I twisted my head to look at who it was.

  Tall, shirtless, powerfully built, covered in colorful tattoos from the waist up, and wearing a steel mask. He had Oni Lee slung over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  F-fuck. It’s the boss. Lung.

  He was looking down at me, and I could see his eyes through the mask. Brown, surrounded by blood, like he had ruptured a vessel in each eye.

  His voice was deep, powerful. Commanding and demanding attention when he spoke: “You fought well. Won respectably. Use of sutemi against my lieutenant to defeat him, gambling, or calculated?”

  I hacked again and pressed my palm into the hole in my chest just over my left breast as hard as I could. I was wheezing when speaking: “Maybe both. P-pattern to attack, placement a g-gamble-” I tried like hell not to cough again, it was sheer agony throughout my entire torso each time I did.

  “Do not die, little bird. Maybe next time, we will fight.” He turned to leave.

  I had a thought, and it was so stupid, I had to voice it: “Sister plays you in a video game, beat me with your fire.” Another wheeze interrupted me, and I gasped. “Autograph for her?” He looked back over one shoulder and scoffed with a “Tch!” sound. I thought his eyes didn’t look like they were filled with hate, then he turned back and took off in a jog. Sirens wailed in the background, growing louder. Closer, now. I felt my power rocking and rolling, churning and whipping, pressing against me.

  Everything hurts so bad. But today was a good day. I beat a real supervillain. I just need to stay alive long enough to get treatment, and I can call this my first victory.

  I considered my power’s insistent prodding.

  Fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?

  I stopped fighting it, activated it, and let a wave crash over me. Flashing lights lit up the lot, and the squeal of tires sounded as lightbar and floodlights lit the ground all around me.